Deepest is a Long Way Down
by DramioneLurver
Summary: In an effort to avoid detention, Blaise hides in a random room in the castle. To his surprise, the only thing inside is an elegant mirror. Why is he absolutely revolted when the mysterious mirror doesn't show his reflection?


**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Jo, even the previously gender-debated Blaise Zabini. Remember back when half the stories featured Blaise as a woman? Somehow, female Blaise was still property of JKR. Anyway…**

**A/N: For those of you that follow my work, I'll explain my horrible updating on my profile. Sorry guys.**

**This piece was beta-ed by the wonderful RoseScor09 (many thanks!) and written for the These Voices, The Mirror of Erised Competition. What would Blaise Zabini see in the mirror that shows your heart's deepest desire?**

Flying lessons were an absolute bore.

It certainly didn't help that Madam Hooch was the instructor; she was weird and loud and not very professional. Not in Blaise Zabini's opinion at least. For this reason, the new Slytherin quietly slid away from the rest of his classmates as they headed towards the Grounds for class.

Besides, it was terribly muddy out there from all the rain the day before. Not to mention the biting cold wind.

Unfortunately, everyone knew that all first years were supposed to be out on the Grounds for Flying. And everyone meant Filch. And his horrid cat creature, Mrs. Who-Ever. Anyone would lurk around dark corners with married half-zombie cats had to be avoided at all costs. Especially when those people were creepy and old and handed out detention to boys that needed to have perfect records.

Perfection, after all, is what Mother expects.

Actually being perfect, however, was incredibly boring and tedious, so Blaise decided early on in his life that as long as he appeared perfect to everyone else, a stolen sweet here and a missed class there wouldn't do any harm. The strategy worked one hundred percent of the time. As long as he wasn't caught. And Blaise Zabini prided himself in never getting caught.

After Blaise slipped away from the others, he immediately sought for a place to hide until an approaching group of older girls passed by, discovering a small cove in the stone wall just large enough for a slight boy. Hidden from sight, he peered out from his cover as the girls passed. His lips curled with disdain at their outrageous laughter, slouched posture, and haphazard clothing. One girl's hair was drifting every which way and certainly did not look presentable. Feeling self-conscious, Blaise swiftly lifted a hand to his own hair and ran his fingers along the sides of his head to make sure that no strands managed to annoyingly stick out and make him look like a fool.

Once the girls left his sight, Blaise returned to the open corridor, casting a quick glance in both directions before darting to the left. If he could just escape to the dungeons, he could certainly find refuge in his dorm.

Rushing down the twisting halls, Blaise was just about to reach the first set of staircases leading down to the dungeons when the telltale noises of laughter rang from around the very corner he was headed towards. A moment of panic swept over him. He froze, mind not knowing what to do. Suddenly, as if it hadn't been there before, a hallway just to his left caught his attention. He sprinted as fast as he could – though he never was one for running – to the corridor of safety, worrying the entire time that he would be caught. Then what would mother say?

Nearly ramming into the stone wall, he stopped again, knowing that heavy footsteps would alert the older students of his location. Tilting his head slightly, he listened.

" – taken a photo!" one voice declared, clearly amused by something.

"Yeah, just of his face when he smelt it, and then how his skin swirled with shades of orange!" a slightly different but remarkably similar voice remarked. Blaise wondered which two people could possibly have voices so alike when he peered out and caught sight of ghastly red hair.

_Those Weasley twins_.

"Over – "

"– and over – "

" – and over – "

" – again," the two exclaimed in turn. It was awfully annoying how they spoke like that, Blaise thought as he scrunched his nose with distaste. Thank Merlin he hadn't been sorted into Gryffindor, not that he had ever considered it a possibility, of course.

"Hey, Fred! Your girlie's coming up. Gonna give her a snog?"

"You! She's not my girl–"

"Oi, Angelina! OW!"

Glancing nervously around the hallway as the dreaded duo continued to chatter on like senseless idiots, Blaise decided he had to abandon seeking refuge in the Slytherin dorms. But where else could he find sanctuary? Ideas passed through his head quickly, each failing to provide the necessary protection, until he thought of the perfect place. Well, provided he could reach it.

Occasionally casting a look behind him in case those pestersome Gryffindor decided to further wreck his plans, Blaise tried to remember how to get to the library.

It wasn't that Blaise disliked libraries. As a matter of fact, he often spent hours upon hours in his family library at home. _Public _libraries, however, were different. His fingers pulled into a protective fist instinctively just thinking about all the different hands that had touched those pages leaving behind countless germs. Besides, he preferred to study in solitude, where he could focus properly. Perfect grades took time and effort, and neither could be effectively applied in the company of others.

That being said, Blaise had been to the library once before that year, so he was rather confident that he could find his way. And the place was so conveniently expansive, a dead body sitting in some tucked away corner could probably start to decay before being discovered.

With that mental image pasted in his brain, Blaise found himself smirking as he thought of different scenarios involving unsuspecting Ravenclaws stumbling upon the mummy of a student who had mysteriously disappeared decades ago.

Distracted by his own thoughts, Blaise almost didn't hear it until too late. The gradual increase in volume, however, eventually grabbed his attention and directed it towards the oncoming professors.

He had to hide, and fast, because Professor McGonagall and the Headmaster would definitely know he was supposed to be in Flying Class and would absolutely mar his perfect record with detention, which would indeed disappoint his mother.

Lunging for the nearest door, Blaise prayed that no one was inside. And that it wasn't a musty old broom closet, because he certainly wasn't going to stay in one of _those _with all the filthy cleaning supplies, perfect record or not.

A sigh of relief escaped his mouth when he quickly shut the door behind him and took a look around. Not only did the room lack people, for which he was grateful, but it also intriguingly lacked desks. It was no abandoned classroom, that much he knew. The only item in the entire room was a long, elegant mirror on the opposite wall. Weird. Who would keep such a magnificent mirror in such a large, empty, and secluded room? Did someone place it there, or was this one of those strange peculiarities about Hogwarts?

Plaguing questions such as these swiftly exited Blaise's mind when he decided he really couldn't care less. Remembering how horridly abruptly he'd been weaving through the castle, Blaise realized he probably looked terrible and strolled over to the mirror to check. As he approached, he started to fix his tie, tightening the knot to its proper place. The frame of the mirror caught his eye as he came closer (there seemed to be some sort of engraving, some words, if he was not mistaken), so he didn't notice right away the image it portrayed. As soon as he did, he startled backwards in horror.

The boy in the mirror was not him.

Well, it _was _him, but it wasn't. It looked like him, at least, with his eyes and his nose and his hair and his hands. But it did _not_ look like him.

The boy in the mirror wasn't standing, as he most obviously was, but casually slung sideways in a bulging armchair. His usually precisely in place hair looked like a mess, going this way and that as if the only thing to brush it for weeks was a set of lazy fingers. His legs swung freely in the air as his toes wiggled, the shoes and socks that surely were covering them sitting in a discarded mess on the floor in front of him. His school robes were no one to be seen, but his tie was draped around his neck like a woman's shawl. The top few buttons of his dress shirt were undone, the tails untucked, the material wrinkled, and the sleeves rolled up sloppily. A propped elbow kept one hand in the air carelessly as the other arm rested across the back of the chair.

But wait, there was no chair in this room. And Blaise wasn't sitting in it looking positively disgusting. He would _never_ allow himself to dress and act that way; very unbecoming to a boy raised with proper standards. What would mother say?

What type of cruel mirror was this? Someone probably found it entertaining, but Blaise sure didn't.

Snarling at the revolting mirror, Blaise carefully straightened his robes before stomping out of the room. He didn't care if he care if he was caught by the Headmaster himself, he simply had to get away from that sight.

Slamming the door behind him, Blaise reappeared in the hallway and was surprised to discover that Professor McGonagall and the Headmaster were completely out of sight. Lifting his chin and rolling back his shoulders, Blaise smirked a self-satisfied smirk as he turned towards the library again.

"Hey, aren't you a first year?" a stern male voice demanded behind him. Blaise swung around to find the Ravenclaw Head Boy frowning at him. "You're supposed to be in class right now."

After a moment of silence, Blaise realized that the older boy expected him to respond.

"I know," he grumbled, refusing to give in to the nagging desire to stare at the floor.

"Twenty points from Slytherin," the Head Boy declared with a glare. "Now get going. Do I need to escort you there?"

"No, I can find my way," Blaise responded, turning around slowly and heading back down to the grounds.

"You better," the Head Boy called after him. Stupid Ravenclaw Head Boys and their cultish admiration of the library.

Still, at least he didn't get detention. No one would know that he had cost his house twenty points, and it certainly wasn't going to stain his record. He could still attain perfection for mother.

And even Flying Class was better than having to endure seeing the sight of that stupid boy in the mirror, with his sloppy clothes, lack of self-control, and horrible posture. Though more than those things, what bothered him most about the boy was the expression on his face: his tilted back head sported an inappropriately wide open mouth, and the look in his eyes was foreign, untrustworthy, and far too sparkly for Blaise's taste.

It only solidified the knowledge in his mind that the boy in the mirror was _not _him.

Thank Merlin.


End file.
